As Love and I went walking
Along the sea's gray shore,
We heard the green waves talking,
And love was all their lore.

The purple shadows shifted,
And through the twilight long
From singing stars there drifted
Our sweet betrothal song.

But once, in days long after,
We walked there, Love and I;
The waves had lost their laughter,
The stars were hushed on high.

And each remembered only
A little voice — oh, years,
How long they are, and lonely!
Oh, heart, how full of tears!

My songs are all for her
Whose love I fain would win:
Each to her heart, a wanderer,
Goes singing: Let me in!

Her eyes my beacons be,
Her lips my rosy guides,
And in her heart a melody
For every word abides.

Be brave, be brave, my song,
Nor falter in the quest:
Love in her heart has waited long
To greet the singing guest.

And be it yours to know
The latch lift on the door;
Once in her heart — Go, lyric, go!
Be hers for evermore!

It matters not how far I fare,
Or in what land I bide,
Your voice sings ever on the air,
Your face shines at my side.

For me each crimson flower that slips
Its velvet sheath of green
Yields the remembrance of your lips
With all their sweets between.

Your hair is in the dusk that lies
Around me when I rest;
My only stars are your dear eyes,
Love's own and loveliest.

Happy am I, though far apart
From all that makes life dear:
Love dwells contented in my heart,
Exiled yet always near.

Let me a garland twine
For poets nine,
Whose verse
I love best to rehearse.

For each a laurel leaf,
One stanza brief,
I make
For memory's sweet sake.

First, then, THEOCRITUS,
Whose song for us
Still yields
The fragrance of the fields.

Next, HORACE, singing yet
Of love, regret,
And flowers:
This Roman rose is ours.

OMAR-FITZGERALD next,
Within whose text
There lies
A charm to win the wise.

Then SHAKESPEARE, by whose light
All poets write:
The star
Whose satellites they are!

With faith unshadowed by the night,
Undazzled by the day,
With hope that plumed thee for the flight,
And courage to assay,
God sent thee from the crowded ark,
Christ-bearer, like the dove,
To find, o'er sundering waters dark,
New lands for conquering Love.

As yonder circling heavens define
The limits of the sea,
And Death on Time's horizon-line
Shuts out Eternity;
So, while in banishment apart
Our widowed lives appear,
Still holds each love-encompassed heart
The centre of the sphere.

I.

It was but yesterday
That all was bright and fair:
Came over the sea,
So merrily,
News from my darling there.
Now over the sea
Comes hither to me
Knell of despair, —
" No more, no longer there! "

II.

Ah! gentle May,
Couldst thou not stay?
Why hurriedst thou so swift away?
No — not the same —
Nor can it be —
That lovely name —
Ever again what once it was to me.
It cannot, cannot be
That lovely name to me.

III.

I cannot think her dead,
So lately, sweetly wed;
She who had tasted bliss,

FROM THE GERMAN .

A LL the week we spend
Full of childish bliss;
Every changing scene
Brings its happiness;
Yet our joys would not be full,
Had we not the Sabbath-school.

Lovely is the dawn
Of each rising day;
Loveliest, the morn
Of the Sabbath day!
Then our infant thoughts are full

Cumbered with earthly care,
Her lot, to do and bear,
To watch and wait,
Martha, with tender thought,
Her loving service brought;
It was for Christ she wrought
Early and late.

Mary (a place most sweet!),
Low at the Saviour's feet,
Hung on His word;
Hers, but in love sincere,
Waiting His voice to hear,
With meek and holy fear,
Beside her Lord.

Be ours the bliss to sit,
Waiting at Jesus' feet, —
The twain in one, —
Whether we hear or do,
With patient hearts and true,
To toil, and listen, too,

Who shall not love the weak and young?
The oak-tree, wide and tall,
A shade on land, a ship at sea,
Was once an acorn small.

Who shall not love the bloom of youth?
The buds of blushing spring
In summer beauty will expand,
And richest harvests bring.

Who shall not love the cloud that floats,
Slight as the human hand,
But in its fertile bosom bears,
Blessings for all the land?

Who shall not love the opening world?
The morning's first faint ray
Shines, a sweet harbinger of joy,
Earnest of perfect day.